


Kiss, Kiss The Moon

by westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst, Drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-24
Updated: 2005-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-30 21:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15105044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist/pseuds/westwingfanfictioncentral_archivist
Summary: Say good night, little boy. Say good night.





	Kiss, Kiss The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Kiss, Kiss The Moon**

**by:** Regency 

**Character(s):** CJ  
**Category(s):** angst, drama  
**Rating:** MATURE  
**Disclaimer:** None of the characters used belong to me, but Aaron Sorkin.  
**Summary:** Say good night, little boy. Say good night.  


I lay on the plain white bed and stare at the ceiling. I wish I could see the sky, but it's four floors and forty patients above me.

He loved the sky. At least, he would have. Every night before bedtime, I'd take him to the window and pull back the curtains. And every night, he would take a determined breath and reach with all his might towards the sky. I would always ask him what he was doing and he would say, "I wanna kiss the moon good night and hug the stars, so they don't get lonely." I would smile and say okay. I never had the heart to tell him it was much too far. And still, every night he reached for the moon and stars. At least, he would have.

I press my hands to my paper-covered stomach and pray for something to happen, but nothing does. I knew nothing would. Because, there's nothing there. I don't want that to be true, but it is. If I had had my way, every night I'd sit beside him on his bed with a book between us and I would read.

"Say good night, little boy. Say good night. But don't forget to say your prayers and your good byes. You will have sweet dreams tonight. So kiss, kiss the moon, bask in her light. And hug, hug the stars with all your might. They will watch your sleep tonight. Kiss, kiss the moon, little boy. Good night." His eyes wood droop closed, but he'd insist that he wasn't sleepy and that he wanted to hear the story one more time. I'd smile and shake my head. I'd open the book to begin again, but before I could turn the first page, he'd fall asleep and I'd laugh. At least, I would have.

Those were the dreams I had a night. Dreams of a small boy, growing inside me, then being born wet and screaming to all who'd listen, nursing at my breast with eyes just like mine. Then, I'd see him toddling across the floor, running into my arms, from school, through the door. That was my baby, I didn't know, but I was sure. That was my baby.

He'd grow and grow, until he was man, almost bigger than me. And still, each night, I'd walk him to the window and pull back the curtains. And with all of his now greater might, he'd reach for the moon and all of it's light. I'd ask him what he was doing and he would say, "I wanna kiss the moon good night and hug the stars, so that they don't get lonely." I'd smile and say okay. I still didn't have the heart to tell him a truth he already knew. I would just kiss his forehead and say, "And one day, you shall." He would smile at the impossibility and nod. "I will." At least, I think he would have.

Everyday, morning would return, and with it the sun. The sun is my nemesis, my dream catcher in reverse. It comes and chases away the night. It chases the moon and the starlight. My son. I rest on the bed, my face wet with tears, my hands resting on my stomach where my son once did. Once, during the day, he went away. That's when I began to hate the sun, but I've always loved the moon. The sun brings my grief to light, but the night returns my boy to me.

I slip out of the building to see the setting sun and wonder will he wait for me until I'm done. Even now, the sun burns my skin like sorrow's kiss and I wonder if my son can see me now. Can he see this? I stay here until the moon is out to see and I whisper, "hello" and hope he waits for me. Already, I know what kind of night this will be, so I tell him to "kiss, kiss the moon and hug, hug the stars for me."

Good night, little boy. Good night.


End file.
